Beyond Christmas (Corrupt Chaos MC #1.5) (2 page)

“Ye’re naughty,” he groans under his breath.

I nod my agreement, my cheek brushing over warm flesh. He’s right; I am naughty. It’s impossible not to be with him. My hands can never keep to themselves, and frankly, I don’t want to. Heck, last time I rode on the back of his
Harley
with him, I spent half of the ride fondling Little Lachlan over his jeans. That got me into a bit of trouble when we arrived at Whisky’s and he was hard. I ended up scolded over that one. And couldn’t blame him for it. I know I deserved it.

Bridget’s phone rings, stealing me from my thoughts as she slips it out from under her blanket. Pausing at the screen, she glares before accepting the call.

“Yes, Mother?” Bridget drones and I spring upright. Lachlan doesn’t hesitate to tighten those steel arms around me, forcing me to stay put.

“
Now
she’s calling her?” I whisper harshly, out of courtesy. When all I want to do is yell so the bitch can hear. Yes, I said bitch. No, I’m not fond of that word. However, it’s rather fitting in this case.

“Give our lassie some credit, and have some patience. Aye?” Lachlan urges, his lips kissing my cheek, trying to calm me. It doesn’t help. Although, those lips can touch me anytime they want.

Turning my head, I kiss him briefly on the mouth to communicate my faith in our girl. He’s right. Bridget’s capable of taking care of it. She can handle Meredith better than most. I just don’t want her to have to do that. It seems unfair.

“Yes; I’m spending Christmas at Whisky’s … No; of course you’re not invited.” Bridget snorts, unamused. “Why? Are you seriously asking me that? … Yes; Dad is going to be there with Mags. … Yes. Like I’ve told you a hundred times before, they’re in love. … No. I won’t do that. You did this to yourself. … Listen: if you want to plan something for Christmas with me, fine. But I’m not going to listen to you carry on like this. … Yep, I get it. But you need to move on and forget Dad. Let him and Mags live in peace. … No; that’s not an order. It’s a wise suggestion. But if you don’t stop this nonsense, I won’t be speaking to you anymore.”

Jesus, just listening to Bridget talk to her mother has my hackles rising. I should be supportive, but it’s impossible. Not when all I want to do is gut punch the bitch and tell her to leave our happy little family alone. Far as I see it, I’m the only reason she’s not behind bars. When her court date came around and I hadn’t pressed charges, they put her in a drug rehab program, made her serve five days in jail, and attend counseling. Apparently, she’s thirty days sober. Whether I believe that or not is another story. But she’s not allowed to come here, and Bridget’s only seen her twice since she drove through the basement door. Both of those times she’s come home sullen, and the only thing that could fix her was sleeping it off—chocolate didn’t even help.

My eyes are cast on the flat screen while my ears pay no attention to Santa, and focus solely on Bridget and her conversation. Obviously, she doesn’t care if we listen, because she would have left if she did.

They carry on for some time, her tone growing darker as the minutes pass. By the time she’s finished, her face is torqued in frustration and she’s flinging her hands to cast her brusque words with oomph. With a less than happy goodbye, her
iPhone
is slammed
on the chair arm and she grumbles under her breath, releasing a tired sigh.

I’m the first to slice through the tension. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Bridget’s arms tuck over her chest as Lachlan whispers in my ear, “Give her some time.”

I will give her plenty of time if she tells me she needs it. If not, I’m going to be her sounding board now.
Men
... Sheesh.

Bridget chews on her bottom lip before tilting her head our way. “She wants me to spend Christmas Eve with her. She also asked if she thought Whisky would be
okay
with her dropping by for our Christmas party there.” Her eyes roll on that one, and I’m tempted to roll my eyes along with her.

Instead, I try to reign in my emotions and be the adult. “Do you want to have Christmas Eve with her, or have her attend Whisky’s party?”

Those tiny shoulders of hers lift and drop in a leaded shrug. “I dunno. Every time I talk to her, she’s always asking questions about Dad. She doesn’t care if I’m there, or wonder how I’m doing. She’s only interested in what he’s up to. I don’t see the point in wasting my Christmas Eve with her when I know that all she’s gonna do is talk about herself and him.”

Funny, ain’t it? That Meredith wanted to treat Lachlan terribly until after he finally left her, and now she cares. Like Lachlan’s explained to me before, it’s probably more about the money than the genuine interest in him. I wish he were right, but I don’t think he is. I think she honestly knows she screwed up and misses him. I would, too, if I’d treated an amazing man like trash for so long and then he’d left me. Sometimes life bites you in the ass on purpose. You reap what you sow.

“I think I can speak for both of us when I say that we’ll go along with whatever you want.” My attempt to sound diplomatic appears successful when Bridget nods her understanding before reverting her eyes back to the TV where Tim is busy working in the North Pole.

Stifling a yawn with my hand, I melt into Lachlan’s embrace and try to ignore the uncomfortable knot in the pit of my stomach. Resting my cheek on his pec, my eyes cast on the screen and I take a deep breath to center myself so I’m able to finish one of my favorite Christmas movies. Meredith is a sure-fire way to put me on edge. Luckily, I’ve got just the medicine to fix that—Lachlan, and his soul seeping comfort.

Awe look, there’s Neil and those needlepoint sweaters again.

“No. No. No, Lachlan,” Whisky scolds, sliding the pan away from him. “Do it like Mom taught us to.”

“I would if she had taught me tae bake,” he grumbles.

Bumping her bottom into Lachlan’s thigh, Whisky shoves him to the side and proceeds to show him how to make Empire Biscuits properly. Apparently, the cookie is a Scottish tradition; or so Whisky tells me. I haven’t the slighted clue.

Across the large stainless steel table from them, I’m busy following Bridget’s instructions and decorating Sacred Sister Cupcakes—Christmas style. Which means the pink frosting is now swirled with white and sprinkled with black pearls before being topped with a mini sugar cookie star. And, if I may say so, they are looking extra delectable today. I’ve already snuck one and had my hand slapped by Bridget for doing so. Hey, they’re a weakness—sue me.

Glancing up from my topping duties, I catch Lachlan taking a step away from his sister. Then another … and another, until he’s backed around the table, growing nearer by the second.

Just as his warm body settles behind me and his arms wrap around my waist—melting my back to his front—Whisky looks up from her work and grins. “Didn’t think I’d catch that, did ya? You two want a little bit of private time here in the back?” She winks, bouncing her eyebrows.

Growling carnally under his breath, Lachlan’s sudden hardness pokes my lower back, and I squirm, growing insta-wet. Scanning the space, I zero in on the long counter. We could definitely do a lot of naughty things here. Me on that counter, Lachlan between my legs … licking pink frosting from my aching nipples.
Mmmmm
… Yes … that sounds perfect. Maybe I’ll even lick some off his—

“Ick!” Bridget squeals from my right, ripping me from my fantasy. “It’s not like they don’t already do it enough.”

What?!

Whisky chuckles her amusement as I swing my gaze to Bridget. “What?” My eyes round, hoping I didn’t just hear her correctly.

Shrugging, she smiles shyly. “You think I can’t hear you two? Why do you think I asked for new headphones for Christmas?”

Struck speechless, my mouth gapes. This can’t be happening. We probably scarred the poor dear for the rest of her life! Christy-crappers, what if we did?! I know I would be if I had to listen to my parents having sex. Although, my parents were never in my life, so I can’t really say that, now can I?

My body going still, Lachlan’s arms wrap tighter around me, seeping his heat into my soul. It doesn’t seem to help, and his strange calmness is far too eerie. Why is he so composed, anyhow? And he’s … I do a little wiggle … still flippin’ hard! What the hell? I can’t believe this! First her and now him!
Sheesh.

Wetting my dry lips, I mumble, “Huh?” stupidly to Bridget, and Whisky’s chuckles morph into a devilish cackle. Curling my lip, I pin her with a glare that does nothing but encourage her to cackle louder, her cheeks glowing red, eyes matted with tears.

Oh, the nerve! Eventually, I’m gonna get Mrs. Indecent Exposure back! I’ve had to see her ass twice in the past two months when she and Sniper decided to go at it on my dining room table. Yes! You heard me correctly—
my
dining room table. We’d had them over for drinks and supper a few times. Two of which lead them to banging on our table, her skirt around her waist, bent over, taking it from behind. Thankfully, I wasn’t privy to what Sniper’s packin’—seeing her milky-white ass was enough

Grinning, and trying not to laugh, Bridget takes a step closer, laying her hand over mine that’s now resting on the table for balance. Our eyes meet. “You and Dad being in love is great. I love you both. But…” Her cheeks burst with a giant smile and a tiny giggle bubbles out. Quickly, she cups her hand over her mouth. “Sorry, I … am…”

With little barrier from her hand and her aunt laughing away four feet away, Bridget succumbs to the moment and begins to giggle, her entire body shaking with unfettered humor. I frown at them both. This isn’t funny! Especially not at my expense.

How would they—

Before I know what’s happening, Lachlan spins me around and presses our fronts together with my back pinned to the table. His big hands cup the sides of my face and gently tilt my head back. Our eyes lock, heavy-lidded and steeped with desire. “We could accept her offer,” Lachlan suggests, dropping a hand to reach behind me and sampling his bottom lip.

“What—” I start, but words die on my lips as Lachlan’s finger smears a dollop of frosting across my mouth before he bends down to clean it off.

Scorching lips move over mine, a tongue lashing out to savor the lingering sweetness. Bridget and Whisky’s laughter ceases. A grumble resonates and feet shuffle away. But all I can feel is his mouth on mine, his breath fanning my face and those amazing hands palming my ass then lifting me. Instinctively, my legs wrap around his waist as my fingers lace behind his neck, bringing us eye-to-eye.

Steadying me in one arm, Lachlan sweeps his hand across the table, knocking a bowl out of the way before setting me on the edge.

I tear my lips from his with a gasp, relishing in the sting. “We—” I rest to catch my breath and Lachlan takes advantage of the moment. Dipping his fingers into the waistband of my yoga pants, he tries to tug them down. I slap my hands over his, stopping him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna make love tae my lassie.” Swatting me away, he returns to peeling the clothes down my legs, completely ignoring me as I squirm and grumble, trying to fight him off. It does me little good; he’s too damn strong.

Off go my pants, at the same time my shoes meet the tiled floor with a
clunk
.

“We’re not having sex in here,” I protest weakly, feeling my entire body catch fire—lust replacing morality. My nipples harden, sending an electric shock to my belly, and those pesky butterflies start to dance.

With only the barrier of my panties left, Lachlan grabs my calves and tips me so my back unceremoniously collides with the table. I release a squeal as my head lands on a frosted cupcake, smashing into my hair.

“Sorry,” he mutters, amused, and shucks my panties down my legs before I get a chance to protest. I’m too shocked to even care at this point. I can’t believe he just did that!

The swift rasp of a zipper being unfastened forces me to focus, and I peer over my breasts to see his dick in all of its uncut glory, jutting proudly. Stepping closer, jeans around his thighs, he nestles between my legs and glides his dick between my folds before nudging my entrance and soaking it in his pre-come.

Clearing my throat, I find my voice again. “We can’t have sex in here. This is wrong.” My conviction is stronger than I expected.

“Na. It’s just right.” His cock breaches my core, forcing me to adjust, and my eyes flutter in ecstasy at the best feeling in the entire world.

“This … is … so … bad,” I mumble to myself and Lachlan wraps my legs around his waist, driving himself deeper. His shaky hands rest on my hips, digging in, and I expel a tiny groan at the sensation.

“Look at me,” he pleads, and I do, locking my eyes with his. The wash of uncertainty cloaking his face isn’t lost on me. This isn’t easy for him; he’s questioning himself again. All these months later and he’s just as shy as he was in the beginning. I wish I could fix this, but I know only time can.

The fingers digging into me begin to tremble more, and I rest my palms on them, rubbing the backs in reassurance. Giving him a tiny nod and a smile, Lachlan slides his cock deeper, slowly sheathing himself in my wetness. Just as he bottoms out, my back arches off the table and we both moan at our powerful connection. My pussy clenches around him, hugging its mate.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps. “I needed ye right here, right now. Is this okay, my leannan?” He sounds unsure.

“Yes.” I squeeze around him, desperate for him to continue. “I need you here, too …
Please
.”

A little grin quirks from the corner of his lips and his hands that are still under mine stop shaking.

“I love ye.” He glides his cock out, leaving the head resting inside, before he slams back in and I scream a pleasured cry—my body, mind, and soul, craving, needing, and wanting him.

Everything turns hot, my skin burning, my throat purring through anticipated breaths as Lachlan slides back out once more, slowly, teasing and taunting me, before driving in hard—hitting deep.

Over and over, he slams into me, creating a delicious rhythm. Wails of pleasure belt from my parted lips, as my hands reach up to play with my nipples through the cotton of my shirt.

“That’s it,” he urges me on a groan, and I roll my buds through my fingers, tightening my legs around Lachlan’s waist; the tension in my core building.

In and out, he fucks me, his eyes blazing, growling under his breath. Sweat beads on his forehead dripping down the sides of his face. The clawing at my bare hips starts to ache. Our harsh noises echo off the tiled walls.

Lachlan darts one hand to my clit and rubs the swollen bundle of nerves. I jerk on impact, my eyes flying wide at the spark of ecstasy that blasts through me. “Oh—y-es,” I fumble, my hips undulating with his thrusts.

Around and around, his finger torments my clit, forcing this deep ache to unfurl in my belly. Curling my toes, I dig my heels into Lachlan’s firm ass, driving him home.

“It’s time tae come,” he commands and I have no choice but to let go. Flying over the precipice of the unknown, I pinch my nipples as his finger sharply flicks my clit, sailing me into white-hot bliss. Wildly bucking on the table, I come, screaming his name. Wetness floods my pussy, and I’m immediately met with another ledge edging closer.

“That’s my leannan,” he praises, rolling my bud between his fingers, gently pinching and playing—driving me insane. I thrash my head in need, clawing at my chest.

Suddenly, an explosion of indescribable pleasure lights me on fire as his cock slams deep, making the table creak. My vision fades, sounds muffle, and a wave of molten heat skitters through me before fizzling out, leaving me boneless.

Inhaling a jagged breath, I blink, allowing my eyes to readjust just as I feel him spill into me. His body going still, he bites his bottom lip to stifle a rapacious climax. “Fuck,” he rumbles.

Heartbeats pass, our breathing levels out, and Lachlan scrubs his cheeks with his palms, smiling down at me, face flush. “Bloody hell, ye tear me up. I came so fuckin’ hard.”

“I did, too.” My hands flop to the sides, my legs dropping from his waist, dangling off the edge of the table.

Lovingly, he rubs the tops of my thighs. “I’m gonna pull out and get ye a towel,” he says, slipping his half-hard cock from my tender hole. The rush of liquid runs between my pussy lips, and I smile at the feeling. God, I love this man and what he does to me. There is nothing more incredible than this. Even if it was in his sister’s kitchen. Time to mark bakery sex off our bucket list—
check!

Grabbing a paper towel by the sink, Lachlan cleans himself, then runs it between my legs and tosses it into the trash before offering me a hand. I take it into mine and sit up with a groan. Forgetting that my hair is caked with frosting, the feeling of pieces sloughing off the back of my head and hitting the table with a weighted
thump
alert me.

We look at each other as another piece drops and a smile forms on our faces. Reaching, I touch the back of my head and scrape a bit of the mess onto my fingers. “Is this what you’re smiling about, mister?” I wag my eyebrows, trying desperately not to laugh.

“Aye.” He chuckles.

I tilt my head to the side. “You think this is funny, huh?”

“Aye.” His chuckle loudens considerably.

“So, your woman buck naked, sitting on your sister’s table with a cupcake in her hair, is funny? Is that what you’re tellin’ me?” I hold my fingers full of frosting goo to the side, and just as he starts to talk, I fling it at him, hitting him right in the chest. A flash of shock crosses his face before he begins to laugh, then I can’t help but laugh, too.

“Ye wee shit.” Playfully snatching me off the table, he pulls me roughly into his arms, locking me there with my feet dangling off the floor. I open my mouth to argue, but am silenced when Lachlan’s lips claim mine—hard and fast. His tongue darts into my mouth and I squeak at the bold intrusion before reveling in the slash of intertwined passion. My arms wrap around his neck, smearing the rest of the frosting in the base of his hair.